He looked for a public convenience, and then for a place somewhere near it where he could leave the car for a few minutes. He entered the convenience. The attendant was in his little office eating his breakfast, and he had no interest in his customers, if that was what he called them. For one penny France secured privacy. He took off the boiler suit and stuffed it down behind the toilet basin. He dusted his suit as best he could with the driver's cap, then he rubbed his shoes with it. After some thought he decided to take a chance and get rid of all the incriminating tools in his pockets. Make a clean break now, he thought. He put them all in the cap and stuffed it behind the water cistern. Before he left the convenience he glanced at himself in a mirror and decided that he looked respectable.
He looked at his watch. Nine-thirty, thank God. He went back to his car, but when he turned the corner of the quiet street where he had left it, he saw a policeman ahead of him. The P.C. was moving slowly, looking at the line of parked cars. At each car he stopped, and appeared to make a note of its number, and the time. Timing them, France thought. Not more than twenty minutes parking allowed, probably. He watched. The P.C. came to the Morris 1000. He showed no particular interest in it, but noted its number and moved on. Phew! It appeared that the garage proprietor had not informed the police after all. Perhaps he had decided that it was none of his business. Or perhaps he was a thief, too. A man who could ask thirty shillings a week for a bit of spare ground would certainly never be bothered by his conscience.
The policeman's progress was very slow. France looked at the small shops near him, and saw an outfitter's. He went in there and bought a brown felt hat and a raincoat. When he came out, the P.C. was right at the other end of the street, looking at the last car. Would he turn and retrace his steps? France hurried to the Morris. He got in and started it. He wheeled out of line on full lock, thankful now that he had chosen so small a car. He had to reverse once to get round in that street, but he was away before the policeman was anywhere near him. As he moved out of the street into traffic a blare of horns told him that he had done something wrong. He guessed that he had come the wrong way out of a one way street. Dear, dear. They could take his number but they'd have a hell of a time delivering the summons.
He drove in the direction of the North Central Station, towards the hotel where Dorrie was staying. He was a few minutes early, and it was his intention first to make a brief reconnaissance by driving past the hotel and round the block. But as he approached he saw Dorrie standing at the top of the steps. He stopped at the kerb. She signalled that she had seen him. She stepped back into the hotel and emerged carrying a small suitcase. She put it into the back of the car, and as she took the seat beside him she reached out and squeezed his hand as it held the gear lever.
She was smiling, obviously happy and relieved. 'I see you've started wearing glasses,' she said.
'Yes, but you recognized me soon enough.'
'I'd know you with a mask on. What's the matter, did something go wrong?'
'It sure did. Haven't you see a paper?'
'No. I couldn't be bothered with papers this morning.'
He told her what had happened. She was horrified, but she made no comment about what might happen to her husband or her sister. They were out of her life, crossed off, forgotten.
'They've got your picture,' she said. 'They're looking for you.'
'I'm afraid so.'
'What will you do?'
'That depends on whether you stay with me. I can't hold you to your promise now.'
'You don't want me?'
'There's nothin' I want more.'
'Without me you'll have more chance of getting away.'
'I doubt it. Anyway, I'd sooner have you with me.'
'Where will we go?'
'First, get out that map there, and open it on your knee. We'll go north for a start, because it's easier to read a map that way.'
'Yes, but where will we go when we've got clear?'
'To my brother. He has a farm not far from Huntingdon. I'll introduce you as my wife. He thinks I'm still workin' in insurance.'
'But won't the police look for you at your brother's?'
'They don't know I have a brother. They don't know my real name. They never did, from the start. I made sure of that.'
'Your name isn't France?'
'No, it's something else entirely.'
'What?'
'I'll tell you when we're clear, not before.'
She shivered. 'Will there be road blocks?'
'I don't know. If there are, we'll have to find a way round them. They can't block every little road out of a place like this.'
'How long will we stay at your brother's?'
'Until we've got passports, and made our financial arrangements. Then we go to a place in southern Spain not far from Gibraltar. I can transfer money to a British bank in Gib, and draw on it as I need it.'
'Spain,' she said. 'I've never been to Spain.'
'If you don't like it we'll go somewhere else, but Spain it is for a start. Whether you like it anywhere depends on how much you get to like me.'
'Then I shall like it. I've been thinking about you a lot, in that hotel. We should have met ten years ago. I hope it's-for ever.'
'That's wonderful,' he said. He drove on, savouring her words. Did he deserve such luck, to get clean away with Dorrie, with the prospect of happiness and security? According to all his early training, he deserved nothing of the kind. He was-had been-a scoundrel. Not a scoundrel as despicable as some fat rogues he knew, who preyed ruthlessly on society-the poorer sections of it-under licence of the law. He was better than they, but what sort of an excuse was that? He was still a scoundrel. He had been a thief from adolescence, and it was no defence to boast that he had been a clever one.
Still, in this world people did not always get what they deserved. Far from it. He had a chance of happiness and he was going to take it.
'Get out that other map, the map of the town,' he said, pointing. Quite involuntarily he increased the speed of the car. 'Here goes. We'll get through, my sweet.'